


Metallic

by dodecahedrons



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, also future au, au where the game was never played, ill condence it eventually, just so you guys know, sorry - Freeform, the description says a LOT but its really just a structure for the plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:53:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodecahedrons/pseuds/dodecahedrons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dirk Strider owns and runs a robotics shop in what is probably the worst time for it to exist- the Robotics Revolution. With the area recently torn through by the Purists - those who oppose the uprising of robotic and technologic advancements - Dirk has a potential pool of prescribed customers, referred to his shop only to receive a free prosthetic limb in place of one they may have lost. But when he only receives one prescribed customer out of the hundreds without limbs in the area, he knows for sure his business is going to fail.</p><p>Jake English is the only prescribed customer Dirk Strider has had in a long time. After he lost an arm playing as a surrogate soldier in recent battles of the Revolution, he's prescribed Dirk's corner-store of a robotics shop. His only goal is to get the prosthetic limb and get back into battle.</p><p>But Dirk doesn't know if he can let that happen, because if Jake, the only human he's had contact with in a long time, leaves... he might not come back.</p><p>And when he doesn't, its up to Dirk to re-find him, or go to drastic measures to simulate his existence once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dirk was slowly coming to realize that the deal he was running at his shop wasn't as good an idea as he'd originally thought.

The year was 2047, and the Robotic Uprising hadn't been at all what people had predicted it be in the early 2000's and late 1900's. Rather than a time of peace and prosperity assisted by mechanical buddies that people used to call "robots", it was a time of massive bloodshed where the only "robots" in sight were solders and civilian stand-ins leaving automail shops.

Dirk's shop was no exception to this scene.

But rather than making a quick buck off of wounded people in need of limbs to function, he offered custom robotic prosthetics for free. He sort of did this in hopes that the free limbs would bring people back in to look at his other robotic enhancements they could get.

It was to no avail, however. He of all people knew that money was worth next to nothing anymore and still hard to earn. He could barely bring himself to look at his wares in the front of the shop. They were severely marked down and _still_ ridiculously overpriced. He stepped out from behind the counter to fix a display case housing a small, metal circle. Almost a hearing aid, but not quite. It picked up sound waves humans couldn't hear unaided and translated them to waves that you could hear that _wouldn't_ kill your eardrums.

$2,500,000.

He sighed, taking the time he was fixing the casing to glance out his admittedly small storefront window, hopefully to distract him from the guilty thoughts the pricetag brought on.

The fights were no longer in the streets infront of the shop, and he was thanking every diety he still believed could exist for this. But the absence of war didn't mean the absence of desertion and death. A few corpses still littered the streets, covered by tarps with crude, man-made flowers taped to them. Blood hideously stained the surface of any storefront that dared be any pale color. Robotic limbs were torn and strewn every which way, along with other external, removable robotic enhancement.

The Purists really got the Revolutionists really good over the past two weeks around here.

Dirk sighed, shaking his head and taking a step back from the window once he felt the display case lock back into place. He didn't know, nor did he care, how the display case had gotten moved in the first place. He didn't particularly care if anyone tried to steal anymore. Two million dollars was a lot to scrape up in the small timeframe the battles allowed for absence. The ear piece was especially valuable, because the Revolutionists communicated via secret radio channels programmed to only be picked up by it. If you had it, you would be more likely to make it out alive.

Which explains why so many people came in bartering for it.

No one wanted to pay for robotic additions, however. Especially not ones visible on their body. And while there were still a few people in the market for external enhancements, no one would dare purchase one that was easily noticeable. Because easily noticeable meant removable, easily or not. The Purists were ruthless in their efforts to destroy those embracing the Robotic Uprising.

After wandering around his shop and musing to himself in a similar fashion for a while, Dirk made his way back to his spot behind the counter.

Today was bound to be another day of sitting and staring at the door from 9 till 8 before he gave up, shut the store down for the day, and hit the hay in the storage room.

He knew he wasn't the most advanced robotics shop in the area. Hell, he was one of the crudest in the state. But his wares worked, and they looked fine. They weren't anything special. Just robotic limbs and enhancements.

Did things have to be flashy to be valuable?

He sighed, fixing his gaze in a constant loop between the door and what he could see of the storefront window. Back and forth, back and forth. It took his mind off of everything, watching back and forth for customers, or even passerby who looked in the window.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and--

He turned and looked to the right, to the wall next to him. He had a new alert.

An alert meant a prescribed customer.

He jumped out of the chair he'd seated himself in and waited, staring intently only at the door now.

A prescribed customer meant a new chance for a paying customer. And it also meant human contact. An alert meant they were on their way.

And he had to be ready.

He was anxious now, so to distract himself, he got himself back into his time-passing staring pattern.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.


	2. Chapter 2

He'd almost fallen asleep, he realized, when a small jingle chimed through the shop and the sound of footsteps approaching the counter that could be heard resonating off of the walls reinforced with scrap metal sheets jolted him from his half-asleep state. Dirk lifted his head off of his arms - which he hadn't realized had folded to cushion his head against the hard steel of his countertop - and stared at the man walking through the door.

He was a scrawny man, no taller than 5'8, who wore a clean white t-shirt and brown cargos. His hair was pitch black, and his skin was a nice tan color. Deep green eyes were framed by rectangular lenses - why hadn't he opted for something much safer in these times?

After a moment, he noticed this man had a missing arm.

"Are you the prescribed customer?" Dirk asked, voice vaguely gravely, both from his minute-long powernap and the fact that the water had been shut off in his store. The man gave a soft nod.

"I'm still not quite sure what that means, but I'd say I am, being that I was sent here by my surgeon," he responded, eyes flicking passed Dirk to examine the papers pinned haphazardly on the wall behind him. He seemed to be trying to read the papers. "Ah... do you have any certificates of authenticity?"

"Certificates of what?" Dirk responded, taken back a bit. This man had been in his shop no more than two minutes and he was already questioning his credibility?

"Authenticity. I don't want just anyone puttin' rivets in my shoulder and buildin' an arm. I just want to know you have the credentials."

"Listen, if I didn't have the credentials, do you think your surgeon would've sent you here?" the blonde sighed, tapping his index and middle fingers on the desk infront of him every so many words. It wasn't that the credibility question wasn't common, it's just that it had never come so early.

The man seemed to understand after a moment, however, and he stopped asking questions.

The shop filled with uncomfortable silence for a few moments before Dirk cleared his throat.

"So, you're here for an arm, right?" he asked, pretending to check the holographic database he stored his shop's prescribed customer data on for this information to make it less obvious he'd already noticed the customer's obvious lack of a left arm. In his experience, he knew that customers felt more comfortable if you didn't blatantly point out they'd lost an arm.

It's not like they didn't know. Of course they knew. It's just a self consciousness versus self esteem thing.

"Right you are," the black haired man responded. "Oh, and do you have my name on file? You haven't referred to me by name once."

"Your name's..." Dirk stalled for time by scrolling excessively, and finally going into the man's profile (which he'd never actually opened), squinting at the holographic, dark blue text. "Jake English."

"Yessirie, that's my name!" he grinned. "And you're Dirk, from what i gather."

Dirk nodded, avoiding pointing out that his name was on the door, and how he was the only certified medical mechanic in the building. "Yep."

"Alrighty! Uh, how do we do this? The whole..." the man, now known as Jake, waved his hand in the air in a vague, mostly abstract matter. "The whole arm deal."

"What I have to do," he began to respond, emphasizing for his own self confidence that he was the only one who'd technically be doing work around here as he stood, "is measure what's left of your arm, test what metals are heavy or light enough to match the weight of your other arm, and costruct an arm custom fit to your needs as a human and a soldier."

"Ech, sounds complicated," Jake commented.

"Not really. I've done dozens of custom arms for soldiers. Some for relatives. Mostly for soldiers, though," he shrugged. "It's a learned skill. It's just math and science now."

"How much of it will I need to be here for?" he asked as Dirk finally walked out from behind the counter and passed him. Dirk felt his heart sink, if only for a second, and sighed. That was his least favorite question of all these visits. He steeled himself for his miniature explanation that usually cushioned his patient's guilt of not wanting to stay longer than necessary before turning to face Jake.

"You'll only need to be here for the first few steps, technically. I might have to call you in during the creation of your arm, but..." he glanced over his shoulder and out the window for a second - force of habit. "You don't have to be here."

"Well, darn," he sighed. "Is it because you _don't_ want people here? Because I was sort of hoping I could see how you made the limbs!"

"It's not that I don't want people here its that--" Dirk stopped, blinking. The first question, that was routine. Customers and patients always asked it to make themselves feel less like they were abandoning someone. But... he wanted to see the arm's creation process? "I'd like company, if you'd want to stay."

"Nice! So uh, when do we start everything? Is today just a consultation? How much is this all going to cost?" Jake began to pratte off questions, a new edge in his voice. He seemed much more... comfortable with this whole situation, almost.

"It's free. I do free work for soldiers who lose limbs," he responded. "And we'll start tomorrow, at ten in the morning, if you can make it. If not, we can reschedule."

"I don't really have much to do. Do you care if I come in a little before ten?"

"Nah, that's fine. Ten is just a rough number. Gotta have a schedule, y'know?" Dirk shot Jake a flashy 'I know what I'm doing' smile, which he returned immediately. "You're free to stick around and look at the wares, but I gotta head into the back."

Jake nodded, watching as Dirk turned one last time to look out the window before making his way back behind the counter and through a door that shut with a slam a little louder than he'd been expecting.


	3. Chapter 3

Alarms are pieces of shit, and their inventor was just as bad. At least, that's the conclusion Dirk came to every day at 8:30 in the morning as of late. He almost wished he had windows that weren't boarded up in the back room of the shop so he could at least wake up to some natural light. Alarms were horribly jump-scare esque, and he wished he didn't have to deal with them.

Groggily, he sat up, pushing his blonde locks out of his eyes before throwing his legs over the edge of his makeshift bed - one fleshy foot hitting the floor before one metallic one as he stood and stretched. Tiredly, he turned and made his way toward the somewhat dirty coffee pot sitting at the foot of his bed. Upon reaching it, he came to realize he'd forgotten to set the coffee to make itself the night beforehand. He sighed and hit himself in the face, dragging his hand down his face before setting the coffee up right then and there to brew.

As the coffee brewed, he began to do some exercises to wake himself up. After a dozen or so push-ups and crunches and the like, the machine stopped humming. His caffinated bean water was ready. With a bit more of an aware nature, he made his way back to the coffee pot. He poured himself a cup of coffee and started to drink it without putting anything extra in it (not by choice, but because cream and sugar were pretty much luxuries), only spitting a little when he heard pretty heavy rapping on the front door of the shop.

"C-Coming!" he called, wiping the coffee he'd just spit out off his chin and running out of the back of the shop, coffee in hand, to unlock the shop door. He'd entirely forgotten his customer - Jake, was it? - was coming early. He glanced at a clock on the shop wall the door was on to double check the time.

It was 8:53.

Dirk set his mug of coffee on a nearby glass case for a display of robotic eye enhancements so he could fiddle with his array of locks. There were eight of them, just to make sure the the Purists would have a harder time breaking into his shop if they so chose. Upon unlocking all eight locks, he opened the door carefully as to not slam it into the wall and cause himself to pay for more repairs. Lo and behold, it was his customer.

Like it would have honestly been anyone else. He didn't even need to double check.

"Hiya!" Jake said, his voice chipper and demeanor eager to get going. Dirk blinked and nodded somewhat absently in response, moving out of the way so Jake could enter.

"Good morning," Dirk yawned, covering his mouth with his left arm as he picked his mug back up with his right hand as soon as Jake entered. He didn't even take a moment to realize he was still in a t-shirt and boxers in the presence of a customer. He just kind of wasn't entirely there yet.

"You seem awfully groggy! Wake up and smell the coffee! ...Well, I guess in your case, it'd be wake up and taste the coffee, eh?" Jake chirped, stepping off to the side as if to tell Dirk he should walk back to the counter. Dirk ignored the subtle insinuation, as he was too busy relishing in the caffinated warmth of his coffee.

After taking one more sip, Dirk glanced down into his now half-empty mug before looking back up at Jake. "Don't you think this is... I don't know... a little earlier than 'a bit early'?" he commented, eyes blank and face unreadable. Jake didn't seem to notice his sour attitude, though.

"Eh, I figured the earlier the better! I just didn't expect you to still be in your jams," he responded, fixing his glasses. Dirk responded by taking another sip of coffee, speaking up just as the coffee made its way down his throat.

"It's 8:56 in the goddamn morning. I honestly didn't expect you until at least fourty five minutes from now," he deadpanned. Jake blinked, but said nothing else. Dirk sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "Do you want some coffee?"

"No thanks, chap! I'm already ready to go! I have natural caffiene!" Jake pretty much proclaimed, a wide grin on his face. Dirk, again, just kind of looked at him with an empty stare.

"You know," Dirk mumbled into the lip of his mug, "You're awfully happy for someone who just lost their arm."

"My limbs shouldn't dictate my happiness!" he responded, turning his gaze to focus on Dirk. "Come on, you should know that!"

Ah, so Jake noticed his leg, did he?

"You're right," Dirk muttered, finally starting to walk back toward the counter, smirking into his mug so Jake couldn't see it if he tried. "I'm so happy, I'm just keeping it bottled up inside. I'm like a jug of fuckin' Sunny-D over here, except instead of being disgustingly processed opaque orange sugar water ready to be consumed by 11 year olds post-soccer game in the early 2000's, I'm a 6'1 blonde with three limbs and the motivation of a cat who's lost 8 lives and is literally about to lose his 9th if he doesn't get away from the goddamn highway."

At that response, Jake fell quiet. At least, he did for a moment, before he gave out a chuckle. "So, I take it you don't have the infinite happines of processed oranges like you claim."

"Wow. Happy _and_ able to process sarcasm this early in the morning. Are you sure you need a prosthetic arm? With that determination, I'm sure you could just grow a new one," Dirk remarked, rather snidely too.

"I could, totally," Jake laughed, "I just want a robotic one for the aesthetic."

"What are you, some hipster blogger from 2014?" he responded absently, finally making his way entirely behind the counter (he would have made it sooner, had he not gotten distracted by the last few sips of coffee left in his mug). "The importance of aesthetics stopped being a thing back in 2025."

"I'll have you know I'm an aesthetic hipster," Jake hummed. "I'm bringing the importance of aesthetics back, just like hipsters did with converse and vinyls in the 2000s and 2010s."

"Woah, we've got a badass over here," Dirk said, voice monotone as he booted up the holographic computer he'd used just the day before to check Jake's records. "Anyway, aesthetic bullshit aside, we should probably go ahead and start measurements now that you're here."

"You said the appointment was at 10, though," Jake pointed out.

"Yeah, and then you decided to show up an hour early, confusing my schedule. It's your schedules turn to get thrown out of whack," he responded. Jake sighed.

"Alright. I suppose you are the shop owner," Jake sighed. "Where do we do this at?"

"In the back," Dirk replied, nodding his head in the direction of the back of the shop. "Just follow me back here and we can get you situated."

"Alrighty."

With that, Jake made his way toward the counter, following Dirk into the back room. Again, Dirk had entirely forgotten to make another thing presentable - the back of the shop. Really, all he forgot to do was draw the curtain across the back room of the shop, but in doing this he'd unnecessarily revealed to Jake that, not only was the back room a fucking wreck, but that he lived at the shop. Jake took a glance at the bedroom portion of the back, but said nothing.

"Sit here," Dirk motioned to a chair. Well, it was sort of a chair. More of a stool with a half-back, so you'd only experience minor backpain near your shoulders with prolonged use, but the small of your back would survive just fine. Jake hopped right into the chair, leaving Dirk to gather his supplies and do whatever.

It was then he'd realized, he hadn't looked at Jake's file to get his full height, which would be important in this.

"Get comfortable. I'll be right back. I forgot to check something."

"Gotcha," Jake grinned, taking to examining his surroundings and occasionally shifting in his seat as Dirk wandered back to the front counter, where the holographic computer was (thankfully) fully booted up. He signed in and hurriedly checked Jake's file.

Jake was 5'7, so his estimation from the previous day was right on the mark. He clapped his hands, both for effect and because it was his computer's signal to go into hibernate mode, and turned to make his way back into the back room.

As he walked back, he gave a sort of enthusiastic "Alright! Let's start this shit." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sort of forgot about this fic a lot, and on top of that i had no motivaton when i remembered it. i hope this chapter suffices, and i promise ill write more frequently!


End file.
